I’m sure I’m quite right,
I cannot be wrong,
I was always so bright.
My memory’s strong.

I well racked my brain,
Considered all facts
And with consummate strain
Followed the tracks.

The Kurds were not there
Nowhere in sight,
This I declare
Knowing I’m right.

That day on the beaches,
With fighting so strong,
As history teaches,
No Kurds came along.

Now they seek succor,
Too late by a mile,
When so far in the gutter
They needn’t me dial.

They claim we should help them,
Protect them from foes,
It’s me they condemn
For their long list of woes.

Get with the program,
Move it along
Hurry and scram
From the conquering throng.

Don’t try and convince me
I’ve made the wrong choice,
I’m sure you’ll agree
You haven’t a voice.

In my infinite wisdom
I tell you this thing,
In this here my kingdom
Will the pendulum swing;

One minute the Kurds
So cute in their garb,
The other the Turks
With their venomous barb.

The former I’m told
Are people to trust,
But I just like the bold
That don’t self-combust.

Give me a winner,
A strong man each time,
I’d rather a sinner
Who’ll follow my line.

Call me ‘cold-hearted’
But what do I care,
The process now started
Depicts my great flair.

Like a conductor
I set forth the tone,
The finest instructor
The world’s ever known.

Let’s finish this bleating
And follow my lead,
So the Kurds get a beating,
A serious nosebleed;

They’re nothing to me,
Just a festering sore,
I hereby decree
This subject’s a bore.

Now they’ve done it, this is real,
Trying hard my job to steal,
Why they’d want it no-one knows,
This frenzied pack of feeding crows.

Impeach for this, Impeach for that,
A sirens’ song that just falls flat,
They little know I planned the lot,
Goading Biden to this spot.

I may be brazen but I’m not dumb,
To simple traps I don’t succumb,
A life of deals, of double talk,
I choose the prey I want to stalk.

Let them rejoice, exchange high fives,
Parade on air flaunting their knives,
While all the time I’m hard at work,
Piling dirt on that servile clerk.

Six feet deep or even more
Is how I’ll settle this one score,
And then who’s left – two ****** fools,
The one just blabbers, the other drools.

So bring it on, I wait with glee,
For all the world this show to see,
Four more years with me on top,
All their efforts one huge flop.

The president has to tell himself things
To keep himself from drowning
he says that he has fins
To keep himself from falling
he says that he has wings
To keep himself from hurting
he says he's immune to all stings
To keep himself happy
he says he always wins
To keep himself going
it's to these, and more, which he clings
The president has to tell himself things,
so he's not that unlike me

Wonder this today, what if
we
are.
We are
existent in ever only in the life we leave
graffiti to prove we examined and proved it worthy.

We swore
to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth
vicariously a thousand times,
because Pop watched Perry Mason,

we were on the bench being waited for,
endurance is encouraged for the same reason faith

is evident.

"Mortgage the farm, Pop, I got G.I. life insurance."
Uncle's last letter, afore he was made sacred

for our own American Dream, it seems, now.

Mortal tyranny
finds little worth in the 20th percentile signed
away in
death pledges held in banks of money
multipliers, who take our thousand and lend me ten

to deposit at interest less than I pay,

this we learned, is the way of thrift
in 1928, then in 1985, then in 2008
after that enough is enough

old men should not
spend no time to find
the purpose of each breath…

we're here to find the reason war is tolerated here.

The days of fewer humans, past now in haps,
left lies formed from living words
in old Sybline rants simple subtle
sublime, impulse urge
twisted in slang to become science
when only insiders are conscious of using
writing to lock meaning in unutterable names
…
Ha. That lie. The unspeakable name game,
perverted priests have played
with passion,
proud, puffed up butchers,
heirs of
Moses guessing, fingers crossed, a word
to the wise is enough.

Say I am,
Popeye.
How long will that be funny?

Timing is perceivable as everything, but so long as

eternity and infinity and twisted paths along the surface
of myelinated axioms,
exist
slick as snot,
it's not.
Now,
here we be. Redeemed. Useless mutterings picked up
in passant

considering the ant, scouting, marking, remaining in the dark
grout
of the tiled counter-top, aware of being brown on sterile
white ceramic surfaces
intensified florescent reflecting high gloss,
-- good god--

ah, Tender-eyed Leah meet Rhea impulsive creative dia
metrically opposed - as
to randomness on any level.
We square?
--
This, I think, is why war is thought tolerated here.

Right angle messages tweaked, to fit
fractures from the days when only evil was imagined
shapeless, having form in
no shape, save some old wives tales all fused with spite
esprit
expressed in rhymey verse
or, worse, glossolalia
its inverse, aha, wordplay, verse-ification

springs hope eternal, spits in the dust, fine-ground red
ochre clay from far away

brought to our place in time on muddy iron feet

A voice arose,
shake the clay from your feet,
-- the feet of them who buried thy lying sack o'
-- those clay clad feet, did I read, at the door, stood they…
-- some translation of Ananias and Saphira,

Uri, Uri! Libsi libsi
Uz zek Sigh-own

libsi big de tipart-tech, ye ru say limnal
sub
dis-error
agent of
Isaiah 57: 2 for the Jesus freaque
frequency of
calm in confusion's unpacking, fission
sometimes
haps
as the firstborn under the cloud of unknowing
emerge afraid to lie.

Nurses whisper, listener listen
emulate Socrates
in knowing
Plato could carry quite a load. But listen,

who admits to knowing nothing? be real, this takes time…

The spit in the clay, rub that in yer eye?
watchasee…
men, like trees… yeh, some say they see that here.

the president's past tax returns

might well haunt him yet

they'll be made available for

Democrats to freely vet


on the figures being thoroughly

scrutinized

any anomalies shall be heavily

criticized


as we all know the devil is always

in the fine detail

where no executive order will be

seen to prevail


congress won't let up on its

relentless quest

in finding revenue that wasn't

paid unto an IRS request

George HW Bush has left the room
For the last time we salute his duty
Save be it the last image of his bloom
The red, white and blue  his beauty

Stars and stripes live on forever
In our heartbeats his wonderful space
We honor his service and endeavour
For preserving  our country's  better place

From dedicated soldier to president
His passion for his country took flight
For he was always there ... a present
In fighting for his country to shine bright

Now his mission over leaves us blessed
The fourty first link's mettle was impressed

Logan Robertson

12/05/2018